Alice's Christmas Carol
by jjhatter
Summary: Alice never celebrates Christmas, be it in London or her own imagination. But will Wonderland allow her to remain a Scrooge? The answer is a resounding NO. Slightly AU; takes place after "Alice: Madness Returns."
1. Chapter 1

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, hobos and tramps, long-nosed mosquitoes and bowlegged ants, to my very special Christmas special! I hope it appeases your expectations. (If not, then, please, tell me how I might remedy this!) Now, a few boring notices, and we'll head on to the real treat...

Disclaimer: "Do I really look like I know? Your judgment must be severely impaired." By this, I mean to say that I have ABSOLUTELY NO OWNERSHIP of _American__McGee__'__s__Alice_ or its characters and setting; those rights go to American McGee and his company. I do not own the story of _A__Christmas__Carol_; as everyone knows, those rights go to Charles Dickens. So, to make a long story short, I own nothing. At all. Period. There are a few quotes here as well, not only from both games and the book, but from other adaptations of Dickens' tale, as well (for example, the kids' film _An__All__Dogs__Christmas__Carol_). I have no ownership of these, either.

Rating: T (for death and – hopefully – disturbing or depressing scenes...mainly just to be safe)

Summary: Alice hates Christmas, and has no desire to celebrate the Holidays anywhere, be it London or her imagination...but will Wonderland allow her to stay a Scrooge? The answer is a resounding...NO. Slightly AU; takes place after _Alice:__Madness__Returns._

**Chapter I: Alice...Scrooge?**

Bumby was dead, to begin with.

As if anybody really cared.

Did Alice know he was dead? Naturally: she killed him herself.

Of course, no one knew that; following the mysterious disappearance of the corrupt psychiatrist the papers were calling "Dr. Demon," Alice Liddell came forth, and, with the aid of a few stool pigeons, and her former nanny, presented evidence to the courts of Dr. Angus Bumby's crimes. When the wicked doctor's mangled, headless corpse was found in Moorgate Station, he was posthumously found guilty of crimes far too numerous to mention, from murder, to arson, to petty theft, to abuse, to prostitution, to…well, you get the idea.

Nobody ever questioned the doctor's death, and nobody cared…the court's readily chalked it up to an accident. The psychiatrist's place of operations, the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth, was closed and demolished. It's still-sane inhabitants found jobs elsewhere, if adult, or were sent to a different orphanage, if a child.

As for Alice…well, let's just say she got along well.

…Okay, let's come out with it: she was miserable, to say the least. After Bumby's death and post-mortem trial, Alice roamed the streets, searching for a job. Her nanny offered her a place at the brothel where she now worked, but the young, disturbed woman quickly turned the offer down. Again.

Now, she worked as a clerk at a counting house. She lived alone, in a dark, old house that was only large enough to hold a bedroom and a kitchen. Her already homely garbs had grown worse over the course of the few months following her retribution; her stained apron was in tatters, her faded blue-&-white striped dress with long sleeves was rough and grimy on her skin. Her integument itself was pale, her whole being gaunt, her raven hair disheveled and greasy. Her plain stockings, along with her worn, muddy shoes were at least a size too large…one might call her pathetic.

But no one did, for one simple reason: her eyes. Sunken in black-skinned sockets, they glared out at the world, at the universe, cutting into anything that stared into them like green shards of glass. She walked, despite her untidy appearance, with a sense of dignity, but her fists were always clenched tight, her claw-like nails digging into the flesh, as if she was itching for a fight.

Treachery, madness, abuse, and plain weirdness had frozen her, inside and out.

Well…until the time our story takes place in, anyway.

The day? Christmas Eve. All of London was in the Christmas mood as Alice walked home. For the people in the highest districts, this meant gay displays, snowy streets, grand parties, and carolers crossing down the road. Brightly lit trees, a burning Yule Log, rum punch, cake, and other goodies were seen throughout the city, shop windows boasting bright-colored clockwork toys that reminded Alice too much of a certain tea party, and wreaths over every door.

For Alice, it was quite a different story.

As she moved on, heading home from the counting house, the world seemed to show a sense of fear in her presence; a blind man's dog took one look at her, whimpered, and hustled into an alley, tugging its owner so hard that the poor fellow lost his glasses…which were crushed, quite intentionally, beneath Alice's foot. Beggars dared not ask for a token of any sort from the young woman, wrapped in a black wool shawl in an attempt to stave off the biting cold, partially because she looked just as bad-off as themselves, but mostly because of the dark mood that seemed to seep from her very skin.

She came upon a group of Christmas Carolers, braying out-of-tune the traditional lyrics and melody of _Carol__of__the__Bells_, and glared fiercely at them when they rattled the change in their cup. The gulped in chorus, and took a small step back.

She glanced down at a young boy, with red hair, dressed in a tattered blue coat and brown cap, who huddled closer to an adult woman in the group, dressed in a warm pink dress…presumably his mother. Alice's gaze softened slightly, but she said nothing, nor gave anything…she simply moved on, her green eyes growing cold once more.

The slums of London were radically different from the high points of the city;it was extraordinarily bleak weather: foggy and fiendishly cold. She could see people wheezing and coughing, clapping their hands and stomping their feet in vain attempts to warm them. The clock in the old butcher shop only read 3:15, but it was very dark already...it had not been light all year. The fog came pouring out of every nook and cranny, it seemed, and was so dense that, although the street was narrow, the houses on either side seemed like nothing but vague shadows.

Her eyes became harder than stone when a passerby whispered, "Merry Christmas" to her.

_Balderdash._

Alice entered her hovel-like home, grumbling and cursing as she entered the gloomy residence. She went into her kitchen, and silently prepared a bowl of broth – she had a terrible headache – before grabbing an old wooden spoon and heading to her bedroom. She sat on the old, moth-eaten mattress, wrapping her black shawl around her closer, like a cloak of night, and began to eat. Briefly, her venomous gaze fell upon the bookshelf (almost devoid of books, save three, which she really hadn't read), and the keepsakes she had atop it: a portrait of her family, her mother and father standing side by side, proud and smiling, with she and her sister, Elizabeth, between them; an oddly shaped key, retrieved from the villainous Dr. Bumby, that had once opened her sister's bedroom; and, finally...most importantly...her white rabbit doll, one of its button eyes missing.

_**Help us, Alice...**_

Alice shook her head and blinked.

"Nonsense..."

"GOOD AFTERNOON, ALICE!"

Alice winced. This was the LAST thing she needed...

"Hello, Hatter," she said, her greeting spoken monotonously.

Her friends from Wonderland had been paying her visits more frequently as of late...two weeks ago, Bill McGill, the chameleon handy-man, came by asking for brandy, claiming he needed some to make a bowl of eggnog. Even if Alice had had any, she would not have given it to the reptilian alcoholic. The very next day, an Oyster Starlet invited her to the Carpenter's newest show: a Christmas Pageant. She quickly refused. The next week, the Duchess appeared, standing in the kitchen, frying a rasher of bacon; she claimed that she wanted to make Alice a special dinner for Christmas, despite the fact it wasn't for another week. Alice almost regretted driving the ogress out...the bacon had smelled delicious, but, when the horrid hag had vanished, the pig-meat went with her. Indeed, the very morning of Christmas Eve, she had found the Mock Turtle in her room, caterwauling like a banshee at the foot of her bed. She felt no ounce of regret when she threw him out the window...he had said that the joy of Christmas always brought him to tears.

It seemed that, even if she wasn't in the Holiday Spirit, her mind was.

The Mad Hatter, like most of Wonderland and its denizens, was, as the Cheshire Cat had put it, "damaged, but safe;" he retained his cyborganic form, the gear in his back slowly turning, as the clockwork mechanisms that acted as his internal organs churned and tick-tocked audibly. His long, gangly limbs, which ended in thin hands, had traded out their rubber gloves for black mittens. His bowlegs, shrouded in black trousers, now bore fur-lined boots, instead of their usual shoes with spats. About his thin, olive-skinned neck was a scarf, striped in black and red. His teapot-topped cane was leaned against his shoulder, and his eyes, silvery and unblinking as ever, held a giddy, childish sense of simple happiness over the ever-present glint of raw madness that he had always carried, and had been accentuated following the Queen's corruption of Wonderland years ago. His thin, green lips were turned up in a foolish-looking grin, revealing his buckteeth, and he tipped his hat, never noticing, or else ignoring, Alice's irritated scowl.

"Hello, Alice! Merry Christmas, and may God bless you!"

Alice scoffed.

"Bah, Humbug!"

Hatter stared, stunned, slowly replacing his hat onto his balding green head. Then he smiled; surely the fine lady was jesting!

"Christmas a Humbug, Alice? You don't mean that, I'm sure!"

"Oh, but I do! I mean what I say, and I say what I mean, Hatter. Merry Christmas? What right and reason have you got to celebrate Christmas, anyway? All you care about are your precious clocks and experiments."

Hatter frowned, confused and upset by Alice's demeanor.

"I've changed. You know that."

"Not all change is good."

Hatter chose to ignore this.

"Please, Alice...don't be cross."

"Well, what should I be? Merry Christmas, indeed! If I had my way, every nincompoop that walks about saying "Merry Christmas," or "Happy Holidays," or anything of the like, would be impaled on a stake of holly, poisoned with miseltoe, and boiled alive in a bowl of plum pudding...not necessarily in that order. In fact, I'd do all three myself!"

"Alice!"

"Hatter! Keep this Season in your own way, and allow me to keep it in mine."

"But...you don't keep it! You haven't 'kept' it in years!"

"Let me avoid it then."

Hatter had a strong urge to try and "fix" this girl, and cure her of her uncanny bitterness…but he knew better. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself...going into a fit now would do no good.

_Patience...patience...plenty of time...time...time...time-a-plenty..._

"Besides," Alice added, harshly, "the last few times I've gone to your tea parties, something dreadful has happened, and I've barely been able to escape with my life, and, in one case, I lost my sanity...well, whatever I had, anyway..."

"I ask nothing of you, Alice. I want nothing from you! Why can't you just forget and accept that truth?"

"Firstly, I hate the word 'forget,' and you know why. Secondly, and in case you've forgotten, 'Truth is always bitter to those who fear it.'"

Hatter flinched; he'd tried so hard to forget the past…to push the memory of his horrific crimes and twisted experiments back into the bowels of his mercurial mind. But he couldn't.

He suspected this was Alice's will, but that only served to irritate him more.

"The March Hare and the Dormouse forgave you, I understand. And you forgave them."

"Of course; I wronged them, and they returned the favor. I deserved it."

"Yes, you did."

Hatter's eyes became stony and dark.

"Please, don't rub it in. We three are friends again, why can't we just put all those horrors behind us, at least for the Holidays? Why can't you and I be friends again, too?"

Alice blinked, and then returned her gaze to her broth.

"Bah, Humbug."

"Alice, I beg of you...come to tea with us tomorrow! For Christmas! We shall have a party to end all parties!"

"Really? How? Will you be using the sawblade, or laudanum-laced tea? Oh, and do the favors include exploding spoons and acid-filled teapots?"

"Alice...!"

Hatter stopped short; a familiar, decorative chef's knife had appeared in Alice's hand, and it was leveled at his chest. The wood of his torso vibrated as the pumping, steampunk heart beat violently against the Vorpal Blade's tip.

"I'd sooner be eaten by a pack of rabid Jabberspawn than go to your deplorable tea party again, Hatter. **Now ****GET** _**OUT.**__**"**_

Hatter gazed at Alice for a moment. One of his eyes twitched, and Alice half-expected him to strike her with his cane as his fist squeezed it.

Slowly, he exhaled...not quite a sigh, but close.

"I'm sorry with all of my wiring to find you so resolute...but, if you insist on being such a Scrooge this year, I shall go."

"Good," Alice said, and the Vorpal Blade vanished into thin air. "Leave, now."

Hatter turned, and went to the door. He opened it, and began to leave...

Then he paused.

"Oh, Alice?"

"Yes?"

"I'll keep _my_ Christmas humor to the last tick-tock, no matter what you try! Therefore, I repeat: MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

Laughing wildly, the Hatter slammed the door, as a handful of sharpened metal jacks imbedded themselves in its wood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II: The Chains Which Hurt the Mind…**

Alice opened her eyes…she had dozed off, and was sleeping in her bed. She sat up, and stretched, yawning softly. She looked up at the clock on her shelf.

It was 9:30 p.m.

Alice groaned; having just woken up from a long nap, she knew it was going to be very difficult to fall back to sleep. She sat up, frustrated, and headed for the kitchen…then for the front door, which she opened.

Alice frowned; it was even foggier now, and colder, as well. Frost tainted the streets…it never snowed. The fog was so thick now that Alice could not even see the sky.

Not that it mattered; the smoke from the factory upstreet always blotted out the stars, anyway.

Alice shut the door, and went back in, shivering. She headed back to the kitchen, where she had placed a Franklin's Stove, in place of a fireplace. She grabbed a blanket, ravaged by dust and moth bites, and wrapped it about her; she didn't really want to go to the bedroom for her shawl. The young woman started a fire, and tried to warm her hands.

For about ten minutes, nothing remarkable happened.

At all.

Then…

Alice gaped. Gulped. Gasped. Her hands quivered, and she blinked rapidly, wondering if she was hallucinating (again).

The fire had taken a shape…a face. The face of a man, with a goatee and moustache, his dark brown hair slicked with pomade…wearing thick spectacles, which shadowed a pair of steely, blue-gray eyes.

The face of Dr. Angus Bumby.

The face did not seem particularly intimidating…its expression was emotionless. It did not blink, it did not make any form of movement, and it did not speak. It remained, floating in the hot air of the stove, orange and red in its flaming appearance, for only a few seconds…though it seemed like several minutes to Alice.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, Bumby's visage vanished.

To say Alice was not startled would be untrue. Still, she was used to curious sights and sounds, and quickly dismissed it, like she had a good deal of things that evening, saying, again, "Bah, Humbug."

The rest of the time was uneventful, really.

It was nearly midnight when Alice Liddell retreated to her bedroom, feeling tired once again, and bored out of her skull.

But she wouldn't be bored for long. As Alice reached for the door to her sleeping quarters, she noticed something strange…

Her dress was no longer the ratty, grungy outfit she had been wearing only minutes earlier…it was, instead, a much more pleasant one.

It was her _favorite_ dress…she had worn one just like it at Rutledge, and usually took it with her to Wonderland. Unfortunately, after her stay in the Asylum, she had been forced to sell her precious garb, and was coerced into wearing the filthy rags she had borne since.

It still fit…sky blue, with a white, frilly apron, its pockets printed with the numbers zero and four, clasped with a white belt that was fastened by a silver buckle, shaped like a skull. Her stockings were striped, and fit closely, and she now wore black, high-heeled boots rather than her worn-out, slipper-like shoes.

She then noticed other changes: her skin, while pale, was no longer an unwholesome pallor, but a lovely, creamy shade. Her full lips had all their rosy luster, as she remembered. She touched her hair…long, clean, and straight. Cautiously, hopefully, she placed a hand to her breast…

Her necklace…a gift from her father. It was there. Omega-shaped pendant and all.

Alice was momentarily delighted…but then frowned once again.

_I __can __only __have __this __dress __in __Wonderland__…__why __is __it __on __me __now?_

_Did I get it back in my sleep? No, that can't be right…_

Alice was unable to finish these thoughts. The door to her bedroom swung open, fast, of its own accord, slamming into the wall and shaking up a cloud of dust. Alice coughed, closing her eyes and bowing her head slightly as she did…

When she looked up, she was unable to look away.

Her white rabbit doll stood before her, as if alive. A flash of dim light went across its single, polished, wooden eye, as if it had blinked.

This felt terribly familiar.

Alice took a step back, horror creeping up onto her, as the doll suddenly began to change…becoming larger…becoming darker…becoming more real…

The apparition it changed into resembled her friend, the White Rabbit of Wonderland…except that its short, mange-ridden fur was black, and its single eye was green, and on the wrong side, while its swollen eye was a grotesque crimson, rather than a disgusting purple.

The Rabbit opened its mouth…a familiar, black, tar-like substance oozed out.

_**"**__**Alice,**__**"**_ the Black Rabbit whispered, its voice taking on the terrifying but hypnotic hiss of a spitting cobra as it spoke her name.

Alice opened her mouth, wanting to say something…but her tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth.

The Rabbit reached into the pocket of its tattered red waistcoat, and pulled out…

No. Not a pocket watch.

A key. Her sister's key. Attached to a long, golden chain.

Alice looked over to her shelf.

As she suspected, the key was no longer there.

The Black Rabbit smiled a gruesome, Ruin-dripping smile.

Alice glared, finally finding her voice, drawing her Vorpal Blade from the chilly air itself.

"Give. That. Back!"

Alice slashed her knife out at the Black Rabbit, who dodged, chuckling evilly. He jumped up, kicking out his feet, knocking the Vorpal Blade from Alice's grasp as the young lady fell to the floor.

Before Alice could stand, or summon another one of her "toys," the Rabbit spun the keychain in his paws, and lashed it out like a whip…the chain seemed to grow longer as it flew from his pocket. Alice grunted as the freezing, biting gold coiled tightly around her wrists. The Rabbit smirked, and reached into another pocket. THIS time, he pulled out a watch, also attached to a gold chain. He threw it out, like the key, and it wrapped around her ankles.

Alice struggled, straining against the metal bindings, and glared up at the Black Rabbit. It chuckled again, and gripped both chains in its paws

_**"**__**Look **__**out **__**below.**__**"**_

Without warning, the floor beneath Alice and the Black Rabbit disappeared. The young lady shrieked, as the Rabbit fell below her, laughing maniacally as it vanished into the bottomless pit, the chains that extended from its pockets growing as it fell, dragging Alice deeper and deeper.

Alice yelped as, in the darkness, a jar of honey appeared, floating in mid-air, and conked her in the head. Rusty teapots, broken clocks, torn playing cards, and cracked china plates flew past as she fell into the darkness, screaming all the way.

Briefly, the silhouette of the Black Rabbit, far below her, appeared, as a gray, storm cloud-like mist grew out from the depths. Alice coughed violently as she went through it…it was smoke!

And smoke meant…

Alice's screams grew louder than ever, as the expected inferno rose up, the Black Rabbit disintegrating immediately in the flames, although its horrid laughter continued to echo in her ears.

Then, Alice herself hit the fire…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III: The Past Must Be Paid For…**

Alice slowly opened her eyes. An endless blackness was laid out before her. She sat up, rubbing her sore head…

_Something __tells __me __this __isn__'__t __going __to __be __enjoyable__…__whatever__ "__this__" __is__…_

"About time, Alice."

Alice froze. She knew that voice all too well…

She turned around.

"…Cheshire-Puss?"

It certainly looked like the cat: emaciated nearly to a skeletal form, tattooed with arcane symbols, with a silver hoop earring in one pointed ear, piercing yellow eyes, and wide, malicious grin filled with dagger-shaped teeth. However, the cat before her was a deep violet color, rather than the familiar light gray, and seemed to be wrapped in a toga-like robe of the purest white. A belt, strapped about the cat like a quiver, held what looked like a large, brass dunce cap, or else an enlarged candle extinguisher that had no handle, against his bony back.

The strange, purple cat grinned a bit wider.

"I suppose that response was expected…but you are incorrect."

"Wh-who are you? For that matter, WHAT are you?"

"I am," the feline began, and then paused dramatically, before finishing, "The Ghost of Christmas Past."

Alice raised an eyebrow.

"You look more like a cat, to me."

The cat's eyes narrowed. Alice's own eyes widened as she looked into the glowing, yellow irises of the "Ghost;" in those eyes, she saw a very twisted Christmas, watching as a man was held up by another man, shrouded in an executioner's hood, and thrown into a boiling vat, filled with treacle, sugar, plums, brandy, butter, and cream…the ingredients of plum pudding. The man screamed in agony, his own flesh beginning to melt off his bones to join the mix. The scene disappeared, and a fine gentleman, in a black top hat and cape, with a bushy moustache, tipped his hat to another figure, dressed in similar clothes, but in shades of blue, and bid him a happy Christmas…only to be promptly stabbed through the heart with a wooden stake, with a holly branch tied to it. As the unfortunate fellow fell, gargling on his own blood, to the court, a third scene appeared: a husband and wife, both dressed in their finest, seated at a table, across from each other, a sprig of mistletoe above them. The woman poured each a drink – wine, Alice guessed – and they both kissed. Then, the lady took a sip…and then began to gasp for air, before slumping onto the table, dead…

"Please…put on your cap…cover it…!"

"WHAT?" hissed the beast, its eyes now filled with flames – literally – engulfing a familiar house. Alice cringed, trying to close her eyes, but finding herself unable to.

"What?" the Ghost cried out again. "Would you so soon put out, with your human hands, the light that my eyes provide? Is it not enough that YOU caused me to have this same cap in the first place?"

Alice shook her head hastily.

The eyes cleared, and Alice swallowed hard.

"Those…those are things I said…aren't they?"

The Ghost nodded.

"Morbid, wasn't it?"

"Yes...yes it was. Pray, tell me...what have you come to me for?"

"Your welfare, naturally."

Alice snorted.

"With all due respect, I believe a good night's sleep would be just as conducive as a visit from a feline phantom."

The Ghost Cat shrugged.

"Your salvation, then. Now, follow me."

The Ghost turned, and began to walk away. For a moment, Alice stood still.

The cat stopped, and turned to her, purple lips lowering slightly in the Ghost's equivalent of a confused frown.

"Are you coming, or not, Alice?"

The young lady hesitated one more time, but then shrugged, chalking it up to another dream or hallucination, and followed the grinning specter. As they walked, the creature's eyes began to glow brighter and brighter, until they seemed to be a pair of flashlights. Alice watched, curious, as the infinite darkness ebbed away, to reveal...

Alice stared, a nostalgic and delighted smile creeping onto her face.

"Why...this is Christ Church! My house wasn't far from here!"

The Ghost of Christmas Past nodded.

"Indeed. Do you remember the way home?"

"Remember it? I could walk it blindfolded!"

The cat raised an eyebrow, looking at Alice mildly.

"How strange," it observed. "After having forgotten it for so many years. Let us away..."

The cat reached up and placed a claw against Alice's hand. She sucked in a sharp breath, as, suddenly, the world around her seemed to spin and change shape...

She was now at her house.

Alice looked upon her childhood home. The yard was covered in a beautiful blanket of sparkling snow. The old cherry trees her mother had planted in the yard were devoid of leaves, their branches almost seeming to cradle the snow on them like babes in white blankets. A wreath hung over the front door, and the two-story building was warmly lit within, if the glow of the fireplace, seen from one window, was any clue.

At the sight of this same glow, Alice's smile faded fast.

The Ghost's eyes widened.

"Your lip is trembling, Alice, dear," it purred. "And...forgive me for noticing, but you have something running down your cheek."

"Nonsense," Alice snapped, wiping a hand across her face. "Just...something in my eye, that is all."

The Ghost eyed her doubtfully.

"These," it said, "Are merely shadows of things that have been...images of the past, long unseen by your eyes. They will have no knowledge or consciousness of our visits."

Alice nodded in understanding.

"Come," the Ghost purred. The phantasmal feline padded up to the wooden gate. The frosted latch opened, and the gate swung open. It placed its feet onto the stone path that lead through the snow-coated garden up to the door of the Liddell household. Alice followed.

The door creaked open, and the ghostly, purple cat and his charge entered the house, and headed for the living room.

Alice smiled again, despite herself, at the warm scene inside.

The tree was beautiful...the smell of fresh pine and peppermint was so enchanting and welcome to Alice's nostrils. Lovely glass and ceramic orbs of red and blue, mixed with candy canes and gold and silver garland, hung upon every branch. At the top of the tree was a star of shining gold, and beneath was a white blanket. Parcels of various shapes and sizes were under the tree, wrapped in brightly colored paper and ribbons. Her mother and father were seated on a sofa, with her father, Arthur's, left arm across his wife's shoulders.

Alice's eyes widened slightly, the deep green orbs glistening with tears, unable to fall, when she saw herself, eight years old, her childhood self's own eyes glimmering with amusement and excitement, her smile warm and cheery, wearing a blue nightgown and thick wool stockings. Alice's older sister, Elizabeth, sat beside her on the floor, clapping her hands girlishly, also still dressed in her nightgown. Like Alice, she had black hair and green eyes. However, her hair was cut shorter than her younger sister's, and she was also taller, and more plump, and wore an orange nightgown, rather than a blue one.

The Ghost of Christmas Past grinned at the older Alice's beaming face.

"Go on, Lizzie!" laughed the younger Alice Liddell. "You open the first present!"

The plump little girl in the orange nightgown nodded exuberantly, and reached out with soft, warm hands toward a tiny box in red wrapping paper, without a ribbon. She hurriedly tore open the paper, caring not for any sense of orderly manner whilst doing so, and opened up the small, black box inside. She let out a squeal of glee.

"It's a keychain!" she cried out. "A gold keychain!"

"We thought you could use something to hold the key to your room," said the mother. "You seem to be very good at losing it! If you want, you can wear it around your throat, like a necklace."

"Thank you, Mummy!" giggled the girl, and rushed out to hug her mother.

"Now, Alice," Arthur Liddell said. "It's your turn."

Alice picked up a small, soft package, wrapped in green paper and a yellow ribbon. She bit her lip, gazing curiously at the package.

"It feels like…cotton, or fabric…"

"Well? Go on!" laughed Elizabeth. "Open it up! Let's see what you have!"

Alice did so, opening her gift more slowly and more carefully than her sister…

Both the younger and older Alice gasped.

The package contained a small, white stuffed doll…a toy rabbit, with polished, black, wooden buttons for eyes. It was warm to the young girl's touch, and the eyes, while only made of wood, still seemed to be filled with a sense of fun and spirit, at least in the firelight.

"It's wonderful!"

"Merry Christmas, Alice," chuckled Arthur Liddell.

"Oh, thank you, daddy!"

As the young Alice reached for her father, the scene faded away. Once again, Alice and the Spirit of the Past were alone in a dark, dark place.

"That was before you found Wonderland, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Alice said. "I always thought Rabbit looked like my doll…even after The Fire."

The spirit nodded.

"You never had any friends before you found Wonderland, aside from that toy, did you?"

Alice shut her eyes and shook her head.

"I wasn't liked…the other children at Oxford teased me, because I daydreamed so often and liked to read so much. I preferred to be alone; the books were my escape, until Rabbit took me down that hole. My favorites were the fairy tales, by the Brothers Grimm."

"Let's move on to another Christmas," the spirit purred, as if Alice hadn't said anything at all. Once again, things seemed to spin…the darkness began to dissipate, to be replaced by swirling colors…

As the world stopped whirling, and the tones and shapes settled in their places, Alice realized she was floating in the air, above the River Thames. In a small boat below her, she saw her father, her sister, and her younger self, all dressed in lovely Sunday clothes.

Also in the boat, taking notes, it seemed, was a man with curly hair, dressed in a frock coat. His eyes seemed to dance, as if all the laughter in the world was stored inside them and wanted to burst out.

"Dodgson…"

"Hm?"

Alice took a deep breath and turned to face the Ghost.

"Mr. Charles Dodgson…he and my father were good friends. He had a soft spot for me. When I first came back from Wonderland, I told him about my adventures during a fishing trip he and my father had. Father thought I was just being silly, but Mr. Dodgson believed me…or seemed to anyway. He wrote a book on my adventures. When I went to Wonderland a second time, I told him, and he wrote another book. I kept heading back to Wonderland afterwards, but I decided not to tell him anymore stories about my journeys. He published the stories under the moniker 'Lewis Carroll'"

"What happened after The Fire?"

Alice paused.

"I don't know. I never saw him again."

"This Christmas seems different from the others, doesn't it?"

Alice nodded.

"It was oddly warm that year…no snow, no frost. But the wind was positively frigid, I'll admit. He claimed to have written it in the spring, but I don't know why…perhaps he forgot the day. He had a strangely warped sense of time, to say nothing of a poor memory."

There was a short silence.

"I wish to return home, spirit."

"You cannot," the Ghost growled. "There is one shadow more you must see."

The world spun round and round again, and Alice was back in her house.

She had a bad feeling about this Christmas…her older sister was now a young woman, about her current age, and she, herself, was older, too. Her father's hair was starting to gray, and her mother looked more weary than usual.

This was all too familiar, and not in a good way.

"Things change," she said, a sense of urgency etched into her voice. "The Past is Past, and I can't change it. I won't-"

"You MUST."

Alice winced, both at the violet-toned cat's commanding voice and the sudden, whining groan that came from her younger self.

"Socks?"

"Well, you needed new ones…"

"But I wanted toys, and books!"

"Alice, it isn't what you want that matters. It's the thought that counts!"

The girl huffed and stomped away.

"Alice!" called Elizabeth.

She walked off to her bedroom. Her sister, mother, and father were left in the living room. All three sighed, almost as if in chorus.

"She hasn't been the same since I said I was leaving home," Elizabeth mumbled, sadly.

"Don't blame yourself, dear," her mother whispered. "Alice is getting older. She needs to learn that Christmas isn't about…well, what she thinks it's about, on her own."

"We spoiled her when she was smaller, that's the trouble…"

"Arthur, it's no one's fault but little Alice's. We'll talk with her tomorrow. For now, let her go to sleep. We should head off to bed to."

Her father sighed again.

"I suppose you're right, dear. Goodnight. And goodnight to you, Lizzie."

"Goodnight, dad. Mum."

Lizzie headed upstairs, her parents went off to their own bedroom.

"Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Shouldn't you put your photography toolkit away? I swear, one of these days, they'll fall over and burn up the walls!"

"Nonsense, my love…we haven't had a problem yet."

"Well, all right…"

They vanished.

For a while, nothing happened.

Then, slowly, soundlessly, the front door creaked open.

And there, in the dark shadows, stood Dr. Angus Bumby.

Alice's fists clenched tight.

"Show me no more."

The Ghost ignored her.

Bumby smiled a sick, dead-looking smile, and crept toward the stairs, heading for the girls' bedrooms…

"Stop it," Alice growled softly, tears coming to her eyes.

The door to Elizabeth's room creaked open.

_"__Oh, __no!__"_

The door shut. Muffled yelps, whimpers, and bestial snarls echoed from behind it. After several minutes, these were reduced to a series of ominous, raspy, sucking sounds…someone gasping for breath…

Then there was silence.

The door creaked open again, and Bumby exited, his clothes looking more rumpled than usual, panting like the cur he was. In his hand was Elizabeth's keychain.

"Take me back!" Alice choked out.

The Ghost made no reply. It's eyes were burning once again.

Bumby turned toward's Alice's room. He peered inside for a moment, and then shut the door. He began to stalk back downstairs.

"Spirit, please, enough! Why do you delight in torturing me…?"

The Ghost of Christmas Past grabbed Alice with a paw, his claws digging into her dress.

"I am a _cat_, remember?" he hissed, eyes filled with a dark, deadly blaze of light. "I warned you already: these are all shadows of things that have been. They are what they are. Do not blame me for the memories you've fashioned!"

Alice was startled.

Then, like a fearsome fire that now matched the one that was overtaking the Liddell house as Angus Bumby made his escape, Alice felt a familiar, murderous rage fill her. She grabbed at the Ghost's conical cap, and slammed it over its furry face, extinguishing the agonizing heat and light of its eyes, and causing the world to go black around her again.

_"__HAUNT __ME __NO __LONGER!__"_

The furious, feline phantom hissed and spat, trying to free itself…but was ultimately overpowered. It seemed to shrink and melt away under the cone, which, as Alice released it and took a step back in the endless dark, vanished in a swirl of golden mist.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV: Present Tense**

Alice looked around in the dark, wondering what was going to happen next.

She got an answer when, slowly, a door appeared before her. From beneath it, she saw a ruddy, warm light.

"Enter, Alice Liddell!" came a voice from behind the door, aged and dark, as if it came from the North Wind itself.

Slowly, curiously, Alice opened the door, wondering how something without a room on the other side could hold something so bright within.

She found herself in what seemed to be a storeroom, lit by a semicircle of candelabras. In the center of the room was a literal hill of delicious-looking food: roasted turkeys and geese, Peking duck, chicken croquettes smothered in lovely, golden-tanned gravy, baked potatoes, bowls of mashed yams, suckling pigs, thick ropes of bratwurst, chocolate pies, plum pudding (thankfully, without flame), honey-roasted nuts, bright red apples, large, pink hams cooked with peaches, rare steaks, rashers of bacon, still in the pan, and steaming basins of punch.

And, at the top of this mountain of delectable wonders, was an enormous caterpillar, its wrinkled skin a pale orange, with pupil-less eyes and thick lips in a toothless mouth, wearing a black fez and a long, green, oriental robe, covered in images of white roses, and bearing what looked like a handlebar moustache on its face. It was smoking from a hookah, but, unlike the Caterpillar she knew, this one blew bubbles, not smoke, from its mouth after taking a puff.

"I take it," Alice said, "That you are not my Caterpillar?"

"I am not," the giant larva said, its voice like a warm breeze in her hair. "You may call me the Ghost of Christmas Present. Come forward, and know me better, girl!"

Alice shrugged, and stepped fully into the room.

"Have you never seen the like of me before?"

"I have seen someone similar, but you are not he…I suppose I could say that I haven't."

"Really?" the insectoid spirit pressed. "After all, I have had many older brothers and sisters…over eighteen hundred, in fact!"

"I confess to never meeting them. That's quite a large family to provide for…"

"We are insects. What can I say?"

Alice shook her head, submissively.

"Spirit, if you are here, as the Ghost of the Past was, to try and show me something, let me learn what I can. Conduct me where you will, and I hope to profit by it…last night's apparent lesson is still fresh in my fractured mind."

The Ghost took a drag from its hookah, and then placed it down. It crawled down and held out one of its six sleeves toward Alice.

"Touch my robe. We're going to Wonderland."

Alice hesitated, but obeyed. Instantly, the candlelit room of feasting vanished, and Alice found herself in Wonderland…

She had a feeling she knew where she was going already.

"Where are we?"

"The Pale Realm, at Christmastime."

The Chessland, with its purple sky and chessboard field, tipped at each end by a massive fortress, one white, one red, was just as Alice remembered it. She and the Ghost of Christmas Present were standing in the very center of the Realm, and an apparent standoff was going on between the White King and his brother/rival, the Red King, each backed by an army of Chessmen.

"You summoned me, and all my forces, brother," the Red King said, a suspicious tone in his voice. "To the center of the Pale Realm. Have you come to surrender?"

"Never."

The Red King's violet eyes, which had been filled with a sense of eagerness, grew icy and dark.

"Then what is your purpose for coming here, and having us come to you? Battle?"

The White King shook his head.

"Do you know, brother, what day it is?" he asked.

"…December 25th, I believe."

"And do you know what that means?"

"It's Christmas, of course. What of it?"

The White King took a deep breath.

"Our feud," he said, "Will never end, or else this land will cease to be. But it has come to my attention that, over the past few years, on Christmas, my soldiers are oddly hesitant in battle. Are yours the same?"

"Yes," the Red King admitted, a bit begrudgingly. "Why?"

"We fight every day, Red. I have no desire to fight today. In honor of the Holiday, I propose a truce; for the remainder of the month, starting from today, we will not do battle."

The Red King seemed more than reluctant.

"Also," the White King went on. "For today, in celebration of Christmas, I offer this: a feast, unlike any feast, and all Pieces, Red and White, are invited."

This caused an excited stirring in the Red ranks.

"The Red King will refuse," Alice muttered. "All he really cares about is fighting. A silly thing like Christmas won't stop him."

The enormous, tangerine larva raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

For a while, the Red King just looked at his brother, his purple eyes suspicious, the White King's own eyes soulful.

Slowly, the crimson monarch smiled.

"Truce," he said, and held out a hand.

Somewhat cautiously, the White King accepted it.

Alice expected that, at that point, the Red King would smash the White King's skull in with his scepter, or throw him over his shoulder, or electrify him, or put a knife through his heart…

She was stunned when the two Chess Kings actually shook hands.

A cheer rose up from both the White and Red sides of the board, and then the scene faded away into darkness.

Alice looked up at the Ghost. To her great surprise, the orange Caterpillar was wrapped up in a chrysalis, with the exception of its head.

"What was all that about?"

"Christmas," the spirit said, "Is a very special time of year. A time for miracles. As the saying goes, 'peace on Earth, good will to men.'"

"This isn't Earth, this is Wonderland. And they weren't men, they were talking chess pieces."

"A minor detail. The point is, Miss Alice, that you're view of Christmas is shallow and tenuous. It is more than simply gain, as you seem to think, and is treasured by all people and things."

The spectral caterpillar's unspoken words hung in the air: _All__but__you._

Alice bit her lip and turned away.

"Spirit…you are cocooned…tell me why."

The Ghost did not answer.

"There is one more visit we must make," it said slowly. "Even though you refused the invitation yesterday…"

Alice's eyes widened.

"Oh, no, not Hatter's blasted tea party!"

The creature nodded, and vanished into its chrysalis. The darkness waned again, and Alice found herself inside the Mad Hatter's Tea Lab.

The Lab had undergone quite a transformation…orange wallpaper, covered in images of blue teapots, was all over the walls. The dissection table and coffee-dipping rack where the March Hare and Dormouse had once hung were gone, imprints on the wooden floor the only evidence of them ever existing. The blood from the wall had been washed out thoroughly, or else covered up. All in all, were it not for the figures at the tea table in the center of the room, one might not have detected anything amiss.

The March Hare and the Dormouse, like the Hatter, had retained their mostly mechanical forms, as punishment for their crimes against the ruler of the Mad Hatter's Domain, just as the Mad Hatter himself was punished for his crimes against them. March wore a monocle, a red flannel vest, a white shirt, and a white glove on one hand. A horse's bit was in his mouth, and bolts were stuck in his ears…his left ear had what looked like a bite mark on it. His left leg was almost entirely mechanical, except for his ankle and foot, while his lower right leg and foot had been replaced with a metal foot and a long, thick metal rod surrounded by a spring. His other arm had been replaced with a mechanical one, the lower arm and hand replaced with a large, decorative blade, sort of like an Indian spear…wait, no…he had put away the blade, and replaced it with a more typical limb, which ended in a metal claw, like that of a lobster. Instead of his joystick-looking helmet, he wore a ridiculous red Santa Claus hat.

As for Dormy, he had traded out his green-and-white checkered vest for a blue-and-red one. He was half-asleep, the clockwork dial in his back that kept him awake beginning to run down. His whiskers were bits of copper wire, like the March Hare's, and his tail was a long, steel cable. His legs had been taken away, and replaced with bicycle tires, worked by gears so that he could move around. His irises were mismatched: one was red, the other yellow. Like the Hare, he had removed his own helmet, which was made from a bell, in favor of a Santa hat.

As for the Mad Hatter himself, he sat at the end of the table, across from the March Hare, the Dormouse by his side. He was laughing loudly, hysterically, as Alice looked at him, a gloved hand on his thin stomach as he cackled.

For all the horrible infections and contagions of the world, there is nothing as catching as laughter. The Hatter's laugh was as infectious as they come; boisterous and wild, with more than a hint at madness, it was nonetheless pleasant to hear since his supposed repentance. As he began to giggle, so did March, and soon the Dormouse, too, was crowing with joy.

"Now, let's play a game!" March laughed.

"Ooh, I've got one! How about a riddle?"

"No, no!" the Dormouse mumbled. "No more riddles. Let's play 'Yes – and – No.'"

"An excellent idea, Dormy!" Hatter said. "I'll start: what am I thinking of?"

"Is it…a vegetable?"

"No."

"A mineral?"

"No."

"An animal?"

"It counts."

Dormy fell asleep, abruptly, leaving March to puzzle out the Hatter's thoughts on his own as he wound his friend back up.

"Is it…a cat?"

"No."

"A horse?"

"Not at all."

"A puppy?"

"Wrong."

"A cockroach?" asked the Dormouse, now fully awake.

"Hardly."

"A cow?"

Hatter paused, a sly smile on his face.

"Yes and no."

A short silence.

"Oh, now I've got it!" March exclaimed.

"As do I!" Dormy squeaked.

"Well, then? Out with it, you two!"

"It's Alice!" the two cyborganic mammals chorused.

"Correct!" Hatter cried out, and clapped his hands, laughing even louder than before.

Alice scowled and crossed her arms.

A piece of the Ghost's chrysalis fell away, revealing its face once again. Alice opened her mouth to say something...then closed it again, changing her mind.

"She called Christmas a Humbug, she really did!" Hatter gasped out between fits of mad laughter.

"More shame to her then," Dormy snorted, and then burst into giggles himself.

Hatter's laughter gradually died down, and, as it did, so did that of his friends.

"She's a comical young woman," Hatter said. "No doubt of that! Still, I'll say nothing against her."

"What? Not even of her temperament?" March exclaimed rising from his seat as he did.

"No," Hatter affirmed. "Her ill whims do her no good, so I am sorry for her."

The Hare and the Dormouse exchanged a curious look.

"Let's think about it for a moment," Hatter said, as if in explanation. "She has no money to make her own Christmas feast in her world, let alone here in Wonderland. Look here: she gets it into her head to take a complete disliking of me – which I can't blame her for, really – and refuses my invitation. What happens? She loses a chance at a dinner...a very good dinner, might I add, Marchy!"

The Hare bowed, and the Dormouse applauded.

"Anyway, I'm sure the ultimate consequences are that she loses some pleasant experiences. So, I intend to visit her every year henceforth, and offer the same chance to her. After all, it's the least I can do."

"How do you mean, Hatter?" Dormy asked, curiously.

"Indeed!" March agreed. "What _do_ you mean? After all, what has the lady done for us?"

"Why, March!" gasped the Mad Hatter. "I'm surprised at you! Have you forgotten who helped you down from your rack, and Dormy off the table, and eventually overthrew the wicked Queen? Who destroyed the Dollmaker and put a stop the rampaging Ruin of the Infernal Train? She did! And, furthermore, who helped us find forgiveness for each other, so that we three are now friends once more, and can thoroughly enjoy our parties together?"

March bowed his head, abashed.

"My apologies...some butter must have slipped into my mental mainspring."

"If so, worry not. I shall repair that in a matter of minutes...unless you'd rather wait for the party to be done?"

"Oh, please! We'll take care of that business afterwards...we mustn't interrupt our own party! Time would be upset!"

"Marchy does have a point, Hatter," Dormy squeaked, nodding vigorously.

"Very well...we'll check it later. In the meantime, I propose a toast...to Alice!"

All three poured a new cup of tea, and raised it high.

"A Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, to the little lady, or whatever she may be! She wouldn't take it from me, but, may she have it, nevertheless! She's brought us plenty of merriment, directly or no, and it would be ungrateful not to drink to her health...both mentally and physically! To Alice Liddell!"

"Here, here!" the "lab rats" bellowed. Then, in a flash, the scene was gone. Once more, Alice was alone in the dark with the Ghost of Christmas Present.

Alice turned toward the spirit, her eyes wide.

The Ghost had shed its chrysalis, and now had a long white beard and large, dull-colored wings, the pattern forming a pair of owl-like eyes.

Alice gulped, and then asked the question she had held in for quite some time.

"...Are all spirits' lives so short?"

"MY time upon this globe is very brief," the phantom replied. "It ends tonight, at midnight."

Alice lowered her gaze...

She froze.

"Er...forgive me, if I seem intrusive, sir...but, beneath your robe...something strange I see. Is it a foot or...or a...a _claw?__"_

The Ghost of Christmas Present let out a long, shallow sigh, followed by a heavy, hacking cough.

"It might as well be a claw," it said, "For the scant amount of flesh upon it. Take a look, here! Look! Look, down here!"

As it said these words, the Ghost raised its robe...revealing a horribly disfigured young girl, with long, greasy brown hair that was unevenly cut and half-covered her small, pig-like eyes. It was dressed in a tattered white sweatsuit, like that Asylum patients wore in states of lucidity (Alice would know), with chapped, thin lips and long, jagged scars on her forehead and cheeks. One eye was blackened, as if it had been punched hard, and her hands and feet ended in long, dirty, chipped nails.

"Is it...I mean, is _she_ yours?" Alice spluttered, unable to think of anything else.

"She is YOURS," the Ghost said. "Her name is Ignorance. Beware her presence, her name, all of her degree, for upon her brow I see that which and which is doom; if you deny her, or make her existence seem less than what it is, or use her for your own ends...then a plague upon you, and all those around you! Again, beware!"

As the spirit spoke thus, somewhere, a clock chimed the dreaded hour of twelve. The ghostly butterfly drew in a short, deep breath, and, as he exhaled, his wings crumpled, shriveled, and turned to dust. Slowly, his form, too, seemed to disintegrate, until only his robe and fez were left, lying in a pile of reddish dust, like that of a ground brick. Ignorance got down on all fours, like a wolf, and let out a cat-like hiss, before scurrying off into the infinitesimal darkness.

As the final chime sounded out, Alice began to look around.

_I__'__ve __seen __two __ghosts, __who __seem __to __want __to __teach __me __something. __One __was __of __the __past, __one __was __of __the __present..._

_Which only leaves..._

A soft, gloomy moaning sound echoed somewhere behind Alice, and she turned.

Her eyes grew wide with horror as she looked at the Ghost of Christmas Future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V: No Sense of the Future...**

The third phantasm moved slowly, silently, gravely as it approached. As it came towards Alice, it seemed to secrete gloom and mystery like a slug secretes mucous, scattering it into the thick, gray mist that seemed to follow it wherever it went. It was huge and dark, seemingly hunchbacked, draped completely in black, priest-like robes. Under its hood, Alice spotted a pair of amber colored eyes, which enraptured her attention, and, from somewhere under its cloak, Alice saw a single, outstretched hand, covered in tough, green, scaly-looking skin, tipped with iron claws.

Alice stared at the solemn shade for a while.

"Am I in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?"

The phantom nodded, but did no more.

"You are going to show me visions of things that have not yet happened, but will happen eventually, then?"

The Ghost nodded again. Alice shuddered.

"I fear you more than any specter I have seen...but, I suspect your purpose is to do me good, and I am prepared to bear your company. Lead on...lead on, spirit..."

The Ghost raised its hand and waved it idly, its clawed fingers twining, spreading the mist that surrounded it through the impenetrable darkness. As the mist cleared, Alice found herself in the Vale of Tears. At the bank of the river of Getting Small Potion, she saw Tweedledee and Tweedledum, apparently fishing for snarks.

"No," said Tweedledee. "I don' know much about it either way, meself. I only knows she's dead."

"Coo? Wot was th' matter wit' her?"

"Lum if I knows."

"Ah, well," Dum shrugged. "It's likely to be a cheap funeral, ye know...I can't 'ardly t'ink of anyone what'll go to it, nohow."

"Contrariwise, I might go...that is, if lunch is provided."

The two fat, peppermint-jumpsuit wearing twins smiled at each other and broke into gales of scornful laughter.

Mist covered the Tweedle brothers, and Alice stared up curiously into her silent companion's deadly, amber eyes.

"Spirit, I don't understand...who has died? The Duchess? The Queen?"

The Ghost of Christmas Future said nothing, but merely waved its hand again. As the mist it scattered around cleared, a single bed came into view.

And, on the bed, shrouded under a thick, red blanket, was a body.

Alice gulped.

"Merciful lunacy," she whispered to herself. "What on Earth is this?"

The Ghost said nothing. It pointed at the body in the blanket.

Alice, understanding, took a few steps forward...

Then stopped.

"I...I know what you want," she said, voice quavering uncharacteristically. "And...one would think that I, of all people, would have the heart to do it. But...I just can't."

She turned to the black-cloaked beast.

"Please...doesn't anyone in Wonderland feel emotion at this poor woman's death? If so, show me that person, I beseech!"

The amber eyes blinked. Then, slowly, the spirit raised its arm, erasing the bed in a cloud of mist, and replacing it with a familiar, terrible sight.

Alice's eyes went wide; she was in the throne room of the Heart Palace Ruins, its battered, caved-in walls dripping with a gummy, pink substance, as well as its throne, and caked with dried blood. Writhing pink and red tentacles were everywhere.

And, seated on her soiled golden throne, was the Queen herself, dressed in a black robe and a red gown printed with black hearts, with a golden crown upon her head, and holding a spiked scepter, topped with a heart-shaped ruby, in one of her oversized, skinless hands. A flock of tentacles spilled out from under her gown, and the lips of her deathly pale face – the face of Elizabeth Liddell – were pulled up in a twisted grin, revealing two rows of shark-like teeth.

Prostrate before her, on the blood and pink goo coated floor, were three skeletal Undead Card Guards.

**"****Ah,****" **the Queen purred. **"****The ****Ace ****of ****Spades, ****the ****Two ****of ****Hearts, ****and ****the ****Six ****of ****Clubs. ****Have ****you ****brought ****me ****what ****I ****asked?****"**

The Undead Guards nodded, jabbering in their strange, exotic language.

**"****Excellent! ****Come ****forward, ****one ****at ****a ****time, ****and ****give ****me ****your ****stolen ****goods.****"**

The Cards looked at each other; their empty sockets may have been lacking eyes, but they looked quizzical, nonetheless, as they tried to decide which of them would go first. The Ace took the stand in the end, moving forward two steps. A long, red tentacle snaked out from the Queen's gown, and snatched up the parcel in his hands.

The Queen grinned, biting into the box like a beefsteak and tearing it open. She pulled out its contents.

**"****Mmm...a ****pair ****of ****old ****shoes, ****and ****a ****lovely, ****lovely ****necklace...****"**

Alice trie to get closer, to get a better look at the items in the Queen's flayed palms, but the menacing Ghost of Christmas Future placed a claw upon her shoulder, holding her back.

**"****Mmm...****"** the Queen murmered again, as if she were eating the items she held. **"****Marvelous ****work. ****Next.****"**

The Ace bowed, and left the throne room. The Six stepped up, and placed a larger box on the ground. Another tentacle lashed out, and the Queen inspected its contents.

**"****A ****pencil ****case, ****a ****pad ****of ****drawing ****paper, ****and ****a ****torn, ****tattered ****shawl...very ****nice, ****all ****things ****considered. ****Well ****done.****"**

The Six garbled out something to the Queen, who scowled, her green eyes burning like emerald flames.

**"****Why ****I ****want ****these ****is ****none ****of ****your ****concern, ****my ****soldier. ****Now, ****unless ****you ****want ****to ****die ****a ****third ****time, ****I ****suggest ****you ****leave.****"**

The Six bowed hastily, hissing out an incoherent apology, and darted out of the room.

**"****Two? ****Your ****turn. ****Bring ****me ****your ****bundle.****"**

The Two Card, who carried a large, burlap sack, took a single step forward, and then threw the bag to the Queen of Hearts.

With a cold smile, the Queen whipped out a pink tentacle to catch the bag, coiling a second tentacle around the Two's throat. The "skeletonized" Two let out a short, pig-like squeal before his skull rolled onto the floor. Unable to die again, despite the Queen's threat to the Six, he stumbled out of the throne room, headless, making disgusting gurgling sounds in his broken throat.

**"****You ****do ****not ****throw ****things ****at ****your ****Queen,****"** she muttered to herself, opening the bag.

Alice was very glad at that point she had a strong stomach, especially when she heard the Queen's next words.

**"****Her ****sheets, ****and ****her ****dress...wonderful. ****Some ****idiot ****tried ****to ****bury ****her ****in ****them...Hah!****Calico****'****s ****plenty ****for ****that ****little ****brat! ****How ****handy ****of ****Two ****to ****remove ****them. ****And ****of ****course, ****most ****precious ****of ****all...****"**

Alice watched the Queen pull something small, fluffy, and white out of the bag, grinning evilly. Before she could get a better look, or hear what the item was, the Ghost swung its claw around again, and the mist covered up the scene.

"I think I'm starting to see your point...the fate of this unfortunate woman, who has gained the Queen's apparent attention, may become my own. My life tends that way now...but, this is too harsh to bear! Please, show me some form of tenderness, connected to a death, or else this grisly pageant will haunt me forever!"

The phantom nodded, and spun around, swirling the mist like a small tornado. The familiar sight of the Mad Hatter's Tea Lab came into view.

Once again, the Hare, the Hatter, and the Dormouse were seated at their table, and in the same positions Alice had seen them before. But now...now, things seemed different. Very different.

The Dormouse was asleep, his dial run down, the dark streaks below his eyes implicating that he had cried himself to sleep. The March Hare was once again wearing his blade on his arm, and had replaced his glove and red vest for a glove and vest of deepest ebony, and was glaring into his teacup. As for Hatter, he sat in his chair, across from March, hunched over, his gear barely moving. He stared listlessly at the floor, his unblinking eyes empty and tragic to see, and held his hands between his knees, clasped together.

For a while, neither of the two conscious partygoers said a word.

It was the March Hare who broke the silence.

"Cheshire tells me that Gryphon had her buried, you know."

The Hatter did not reply at first, but finally said, "Yes, I know. I went there, yesterday. It was a disgustingly green place..."

The silence returned, so overwhelming that it seemed tangible.

"So...what will become of Wonderland, now?"

"The Queen will come to power again," the Hatter droned, dismally. "There's no doubt of it. Corruption and darkness will poison us once again. No doubt I shall return to my gruesome experiments in time."

"And...what of our regained friendship?"

Hatter smiled.

"I hope to keep it intact."

"...But...?"

Hatter sighed.

"But I fear I may not be able to; if I must return to my wretched trade, I want you to be free from it. If you betrayed me again, the last shreds of my sanity will fade away...there's no telling what we three will do to each other, and to Wonderland. And, if I betray you...well, then we're back at square one."

March exhaled deeply through his nostrils.

"Well, then...I guess this is goodbye?"

"Yes, Marchy. It is."

Another long pause.

"I hope she'll be happy, wherever she is," the Hare said.

"As do I," said Hatter. He then looked up, smiling warmly. "March, what say you to one last toast?"

The March Hare returned the smile.

"To...her?"

Hatter raised his cup.

"Indeed. To her."

"Here, here..." the Dormouse snored.

The mist then shrouded the scene, and the darkness returned in full force.

Alice felt a tear slip from her eye. She hurriedly flicked it away.

"Spirit...I have one more thing I must ask...I fear the answer, but I must know: who was the wretched woman whose death brought the Queen power and joy?"

The mist swirled up and around, and Alice found herself, not in Wonderland, but in London, standing in the middle of a cemetery. It was snowing, and many of the graves were covered in frost and thick, white snow.

Alice looked down, and found herself out of her lovely blue dress and white apron, and back in her gritty striped dress and rags. As she looked up, she saw the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come standing beside a tombstone, tapping his claws on it impatiently.

Alice took half a step forward, and then looked up at the Ghost.

"Before I draw nearer to that stone by which you stand, answer me one question: are these the shadows of things that _will_ be, or are they the shadows of things that _MAY_ be, only?"

The dark spirit made no reply, but only blinked, and continued to tap its claws against the stone.

"People's courses must foreshadow certain ends," Alice explained, "And, if these are persevered in, they must occur. But, if these courses are departed from, then the ends must change, too. Please, will you tell me it is so with what you are showing me?"

The Ghost of Christmas Future remained as silent as ever.

Alice reluctantly crept toward the tombstone, unable to see the name written upon it in the fog. Wiping some of the frost away, she recoiled, falling upon her knees, at the name enscribed in the rock: ALICE LIDDELL.

For a moment, Alice remained as quiet as the Ghost before her, who had removed its claws from the grave.

"Am...Am I the one who lay upon the bed?"

The specter pointed first at her, then the stone, then back at her again.

Alice's eyes filled with tears.

"No, Spirit! No, no, no! Spirit...I am not the girl I was! I could never be who I was before, most especially not after this intercourse! Why show me this if I am past all hope?"

The claw continued the sway between Alice and the gravestone.

"Good Spirit," Alice whispered, her voice despairing, her eyes producing salty rivers of tears that ran down her gaunt, pale cheeks, clearing away bits of mud and oil as they went. "Please, assure me I may yet change these shadows you've shown me, by an altered life! I will remember the past, I will live in the present, and I will hope for the future! The Spirits of all three Christmases shall thrive within me! I will not shut out the lessons that they teach! Oh, let me wash away the writing on this stone...!"

The claw still moved back and forth.

"Spirit, PLEASE! SPEAK TO ME!_What __should __I __do__?__"_

Without warning, the claws lunged forward, grabbing Alice by the neck. She gasped, struggling, hanging onto the air she had for dear life. Slowly, a second green, claw-tipped hand slid out from under the spirits robe. It reached under its own hood, and pulled away its cloak, throwing to the ground...revealing a pair of mechanical wings, a long, serpentine neck, beaver-like teeth, insect-like antennae, a long, spiked tail, and a torso fashioned from a furnace.

"You selfish, misbegotten and unnatural _CHILD!__"_ roared the Jabberwock. "You know all the angles now! _**Go, **__**and **__**figure **__**it **__**out!**__**"**_

Alice, both for the shock of the moment and lack of breath to speak, could not reply.

The ground beneath her, directly before the tombstone – her tombstone – suddenly seemed to be vacuumed somewhere deep inside the Earth. She screamed as the Jabberwock released her, laughing maniacally, and she found herself falling once again, down into the bottomless pit below her...


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI: And So It Ends**

The Mad Hatter looked at his watch, frowning. He looked up at the March Hare, who sat across from him.

"Well?" March asked, moving towards Dormy, who had run down and lay face-first on the table, drooling dreadfully as he snored.

Hatter sighed.

"I guess she isn't coming…not that I really expected her to, but I thought I might have shaken her yesterday. Not literally, of course."

March scoffed.

"Shake Alice? I highly doubt it, Hatter."

Hatter sighed again.

"Ah, well. If she won't be here, we might as well start without her."

"Indeed!" the Dormouse squeaked, snapping awake. "I'll get the silverware and crockery!"

"I'll fetch the bread, butter, wine and milk!" Marchy offered, and he and the Dormouse hustled away.

Hatter chuckled, and tapped the silver teapot on the table with his cane. Spidery metal legs sprouted from the pot's base, and a small, red, humanoid eye appeared on its side. It turned to face its master with this eye.

"Hallo, teapot! Fetch the hot water, and be quick about it!"

The pot blinked, and leapt off the table, scuttling over to a water heater and dispenser by the door.

Hatter headed for a shelf, where he kept all of his tea bags.

_Hmm__…__Earl __Gray? __No, __not __quite __what __I __want__… __Pomegranate? __Nay, __not __that __at __all. __Chocolate __and __Peppermint?__ …__Why __not?__"_

"Why not?" he then said to himself, and giggled madly. "Why not, indeed!"

Grabbing two bags of the Chocolate and Peppermint mix, he brought it over to the tea table, where the teapot had just settled back into a dormant state, filled nearly to the brim of its spout with scalding water. Hatter carefully placed the bags into the water (his fingers could not feel burns, but he hated the thought of spoiling his gloves), and then replaced the teapot's lid.

He then sat back in his chair, patiently.

"Such a pity, actually," he muttered. "I had hoped that she'd come again…"

"Who said I wouldn't?"

"You did, Alice, of course."

Hatter opened his eyes, doing a double-take.

"Wait a moment…Alice?"

It was Alice, dressed in her fabulous, sky-blue dress, omega necklace, striped stockings, high-heeled boots, and white, numbered apron. She smiled a warm, gentle smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement…it was a face the Mad Hatter had not seen in who-knows-how-many years.

He stared, surprised.

"Well, bless my synthetic soul…" he murmered. "Alice, is it really you, or did I put too much mercury in my wine last night?"

Alice giggled.

"No. It's really me, Hatter. It's Alice."

There was a moment of silence.

"I…I've come to the party," she said timidly. "If you'll have me…?"

There was a short pause. A giddy, bucktoothed grin stretched across Hatter's face. He rose, approaching Alice and stooping down to her level, holding her hands in his.

"HAVE you?" he said, as if appalled that she'd consider he'd turn her out. "Why, of course, we'll have you! Come, now, Alice! Sit, sit, sit!"

Alice laughed as Hatter led her to a chair and practically forced her down into it.

A crash of broken china echoed through the room.

Alice and the Hatter turned, to see March and Dormouse standing there, wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and utterly flabbergasted. The March Hare held on tightly to his fetched wares with a quivering gloved paw. As for the Dormouse, he had dropped all of the things he was carrying. All of the silverware was undamaged, and, miraculously, so were most of the bowls, plates, and other such things. However, several very nice pieces of eating necessities had been hopelessly smashed, chipped, or cracked.

Hatter glared at the Dormouse half-heartedly.

"Now, there was no call for that Dormy," he said, pouting. "You'll simply have to pay for those, you know!"

Dormy nodded, too stunned to speak. Hatter chuckled as Alice waved childishly at them in greeting.

The pair eyed each other, and then, cautiously, waved back.

Within a matter of minutes, the table was set. Hatter had a few Automaton Guards – rendered neuter, their cannons removed – clean up the broken chinaware, and, after this, the party commenced. Games of Yes-and-No and Blind Man's Bluff were played, riddles were riddled off, and teacups and saucers flew and spun at random moments.

The party was well underway, when the March Hare turned to Alice, who sat near him.

"I must ask you something, Alice: why did you come by? We were all so sure you'd stay away!"

"Indeed," Hatter said. "I felt you made it quite clear to me yesterday that you had no desire to return to my Domain."

"_Our_ Domain, Hatter!" Dormy scolded. "It may have your name, but all three of us run it!"

"How true that is. My apologies."

Alice chuckled, and stared into her teacup, thoughtfully, smiling faintly.

"Well…after all, this Christmas thing is meant to be a Holiday about love and forgiveness, isn't it?"

The three Mad Tea Partygoers shrugged, agreeing.

"Besides," Alice said. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that this is a truly Wonderful life, and you shouldn't waste it in loneliness and grief. You never know the consequences. Christmas is a time of friendship, and peace, and tolerance…and I hope to feel those things for many years to come."

There was a short, warm pause.

"Well spoken!" congratulated the March Hare.

"Oh, it's so true!" the Dormouse cried.

The Hatter only laughed.

"A toast!" Alice proposed. "To Christmas!"

"To Christmas!" chorused the Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse.

"God Bless Us!" Alice proclaimed. "God Bless Us, Everyone!"


End file.
